


Zero to a Hundred

by headraline



Series: Detroit: Become Human Prompts [18]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: "Jesus Christ Connor!", Chef!Markus, Day 8, Fluff, Hank doesn't really get to say it but we know it's warranted, Humor, Italian Chef!AU, M/M, Naples, Neapolitan!Markus, RK1K Week, Roman Holidays style, Stella is sort of an Italian North, Tourist!Connor, a teensy weensy tiny bit of angst, and a whole lot of Italy, because Connor is a thot, but not too much, but so is Markus tbqh, crazy first dates, free prompt, happy (open) ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: Connor graduates top of his class at the police academy, and Hank thinks it warrants a reward.Which is how he ends up on a vacation to Italy, getting way more than he bargained for.





	Zero to a Hundred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisa_Lisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisa_Lisa/gifts).



> Y'ALL.  
> I CAN'T TELL WHETHER I SHOULD CRY OR LAUGH.  
> I blame the RK1K server entirely for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: Kara's B&B is imaginary, I only took a couple pictures of the neighborhood it's supposed to be in for reference and made it work.  
> The restaurant Markus works at is inspired by a real place, once again I got a picture off a restaurant in the same neighborhood from google maps and made it work.  
> The plaza and the beach, on the other hand, are both 100% there and 100% real.
> 
> With that out of the way.  
> Yeah.  
> This is what I did with my Free Day for RK1K week.  
> Neapolitan chef Markus.
> 
> ...people do say we should write what we know.  
> I'm Neapolitan, and I'm a decent cook. So there. XD  
> I do hope my one reader from Naples manages to catch this I bet she'll scream as much as I am right now.
> 
> Hot tip: do click on all the links, they make the story a bit more immersive.
> 
> There, that's all I had to say. Idek, take this fluff.  
> Pls love me.
> 
>  
> 
> HUGE EDIT: the wonderful Amiko has done a drawing for little old me!!! You can find it on her [tumblr](https://amikoroyaiart.tumblr.com/post/182641983287/inspired-by-headraline-amazing-fic-zero-to-a) , go and give her some love, the same link is down in the story at the time it happens.

Connor never had much chance to travel, what with studying to be in the force and all. Graduating from the police academy has been his greatest accomplishment so far –his father was proud enough of him to actually be in tears once they were done celebrating by getting hammered together at Jimmy’s.

“I’m so fucking proud o’ya Connor—” Hank had said, breaking in hiccups, “Come September we gonna be partners! Look at you!”

Connor had laughed and said he was glad that he’d finally fulfil his dream of being among Detroit’s finest, but that what he was honoured about the most was following in his footsteps.

Hank cried some more and promptly declared he’d do anything for his little boy, and that Connor deserved something for ‘being so smart and shit’.

Which is how Connor somehow ended up with a plane ticket to Italy to spend his summer vacation–

“Forget the bleak temperatures of Michigan for a while, you can go toast your ass in the sun and drink those little things with the umbrellas in the glasses!”

He tried to argue that there’s plenty of warm places in the States to go do that, but Hank waved him off: he’s young and smart, he should see the world and not be stuck in just one place, stretch his wings a little. Knowing his father never really did have that chance, Connor accepted gratefully.

Which is how he ended up taking an 8 hour flight to Heathrow, where he changed to a 2 hour and 45 minutes flight to Rome, where he stayed for a full week. The Capital is beautiful, the food is great and there’s so many monuments it makes his head spin –Rome is pretty damn big, but even then it’s impressive how much history and art can be packed in one area.

He thought that was extraordinary… until he took the early morning the train down to Naples.

Naples is smaller than Rome, the guide he got at the station has the areas in kilometres but even then Connor can tell the port city is about one tenth of the Capital, and still…

…holy crap. There’s so much going on, how does anyone _cope_ with this city?! His B&B is in a place called San Martino, and it takes him about half an hour to reach it from the Garibaldi station.

There’s something seriously wrong with public transport in this place, how do people even get anywhere on time?

At least the sights are undeniably beautiful, so that much is true at least.

Barely an hour into the city, and he already has about 30 pictures to send Hank as soon as he finds a decent wi-fi connection. Blessedly, the B&B staff speaks English quite well.

It’s a quaint, little family-operated place with five or six rooms, tops, and a lovely little munchkin sitting on the reception desk with a colouring book and crayons. She looks up, sees Connor and turns in the direction of a back door.

“Mamma! È arrivato il turista Americano!” Connor is slightly taken aback, he still hasn’t got used to the way Italians just shout at each other from room to room, but he picked up ‘American’ and ‘tourist’ in whatever the little girl said, so she must be trying to fetch someone who can check him in.

“Hello, little miss.” He tries, with a smile.

“Hello and welcome!” she answers, hopping off the counter with a smile. “My mother comes now to make your check-in, yes?”

Not the most grammatically correct way of saying it, but God bless, by far the cutest thing Connor has ever heard in his life. Also, she still managed to form a sentence that he could understand, and she looks all of eight years old, so… impressive.

“Hello! You must be… Connor, right?” a petite woman with the same jet-black hair as the little girl comes up behind the desk –most likely the mother and owner of the place. “Welcome to Naples. I’m Kara.”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

He watches patiently as Kara fiddles a bit with the reception’s computer, likely pulling up his reservation and confirming his arrival. “Alice, vai a chiamare tuo padre, digli di venire giù.”

Yeah, no, Connor got nothing from that one. Kara looks up at him and something on his face must show, because she chuckles. “That’s my daughter’s name, Alice.” She explains, pronouncing it like he would in English this time, “I just told her to get her father so he can come take your bags.”

“That’s not necessary, ma’am, I can—”

Connor’s protest just makes her laugh more. “You’ve clearly never been to Italy before.” She has a knowing smile as she leans back to grab a pair of keys to give him, “Please. It’s our pleasure. You’re in the indigo room.”

Right, the B&B’s website mentioned that— since the place is so small, they gave rooms the colors of the rainbow flag instead of numbers. Connor could be reading too much into it, but it sounds like a hint that the place is LGBT friendly, to him. The idea makes him smile.

Kara’s husband comes down from wherever he had been and wow. He’s a mountain, not a man. Connor can only look in awe as the massive gentleman just takes his trolley and then holds out his hand to receive his backpack as well. He complies while still trying to pick his jaw off the floor.

Kara seems even more amused. “I know; Luther’s got that effect on most people.”

“I didn’t— I mean—”

“It’s okay. I married well; let’s just leave it at that.” The B&B’s lady winks at the still sputtering Connor and nods at her husband to guide him upstairs.

“So, Connor!” the stairwell winds up in a curve and looks slightly too small for a man of Luther’s size to maneuver around, but he seems to be managing fine, “You’re our first guest from overseas! We’ve had people from all over Europe but never from the US. How you liking Naples so far?”

“It’s beautiful…” and he means it. There’s an ancient sort of beauty in the city’s architecture and roads that he would have never even dreamed of back in Michigan –many walls are graffitied or straight up vandalized, but most of the time it looks like there’s a construction from the 1500s wherever he turns his head. And it’s most likely true.

“Any plans for the day?”

“I was thinking of going to see the Sant’Elmo castle, since the guide says it’s close by… and then I’ll probably just go look for a place to eat and wing it from there.”

Luther opens the room for him and deposits his luggage by the door. It’s [not too big](https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/proxy/n7dqjRBQ17qTLYj3FELj6WEbQ16xERhQgWAvttVT7-gapIc6tLQVAP6CnHtsjE6ldhVEO1dUNIy_-l30k-MNmdgGT32qg50BexOyWl4eSK_ow2WM04Ua3-Z0NaYVmhS8IMHzwA_0voMh1EkeRsnBJJwzOgNFvA=w592-h404-n-k-no-v1), but it’s all warm, wooden colors, the bed looks super comfortable and there’s a [balcony](https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/proxy/zLqcJmD-5gzvdKngTP5qRnlto5I4GbaAc_MmjI7KEj4CUtrsm7daGI_vKvIbGBAcZBiyMRhkIBiYTgFwg3r8nLDxuCqCGStKRd1OMYzPJksk7oRnpZUjceTAEurft-d3fo34OFuEE8aJbwMEf9QIA6S0THrpzXs=w592-h404-n-k-no-v1). There are buildings all around so he doesn’t have a terribly vast view, but the B&B has a small garden and his balcony is facing the orange trees.

“Well, if you get the chance to go down in the historic centre, look for a place named La Cantina, close to the Piazza Cavour station.” The man suggests, while Connor looks around, “A good friend works there and, honestly, best damn food from Santa Teresa to the Quartieri Spagnoli.”

Despite the name, there are actually no Spanish people in the Spanish Quarters. Connor’s guidebook tells him that they’re called that because back in the XVI century it was the area where Spanish troops were housed to keep Neapolitan riots in check during the monarchy. Considering what he’s seen of the city and its population so far, Connor muses that it must have been one hell of a job to try and wrangle these people into any kind of quiet.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” He assures Luther gratefully, “Man, this Country is ruining all other food for me.”

“Well, there _is_ a saying in Italy: once you see Naples, you can die.” It sounds ominous said like that, but it carries a certain amount of pride: nothing will ever match up, so might as well just end the world after the experience. “My family came here in the sixties, but I was born here. There’s good and there’s bad, but… it’s home. You know?”

“Um… yeah…” people in Naples are clearly very open and talkative. Connor doesn’t think he had this much conversation within five minutes of meeting with… anyone, back in Detroit.

His confusion must have shown, because Luther shakes his head to himself and pats his shoulder. “Look at me rambling at you. I’ll let you be.” Connor’s sputtering that it was fine barely has time to leave his mouth, “If you need anything, you can come in the lobby or even the living room. Also, Kara makes breakfast in the mornings, so after you wake up you can come down whenever and grab a bite.”

He’s already been a week in Rome, so by now he knows better than to refuse food from an Italian. “Will do. Thank you, Luther.”

 

There’s not much to do but get settled, change into an even lighter t-shirt because god _damn_ it’s hot, and go back out –he runs into Alice again as he passes the lobby, and she shouts “Ciao, Connor!” at him as if they’d been friends for years.

Italians are incredible.

Castel Sant’Elmo is a fascinating sight, first built in the 1300s and enduring a buttload of sieges during the centuries –it was apparently a particularly advantageous site because of the way the city was built: roll a trebuchet projectile down the street in any direction, and it would go on undisturbed, wreaking havoc all the way down to the sea.

Connor comes out of there with even more pictures to show Hank tonight, plus one video of him trying to make conversation in his barely even there Italian with a decorative suit of armor.

His stomach starts grumbling at him as he walks towards the underground station, and he decides to take Luther’s advice. Luckily it’s only a few stops from where he is to Piazza Cavour, and between his hesitant Italian and passersby’s hesitant English, he manages to find his way to La Cantina.

Immediately he’s greeted with music and chatter, and a pretty girl at the entrance’s little desk.

“Benvenuto a La Cantina! Mangia da solo o aspetta compagnia?”

He makes out ‘solo’, which he knows means alone, and then something about waiting for company. “Um, I— io… sono solo..?” he attempts, hating how stupid his own voice sounds to him speaking a language he doesn’t actually know.

The lady chuckles. “That’s okay, we can switch to English. First vacation in Italy?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not to the untrained eye…” her hazel eyes briefly look him up and down, as if to size him up by his Knights of the Black Death t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, “But for someone who works in hospitality… honey, you might as well have ‘tourist’ written on your forehead.”

He ducks his head slightly. “Comforting. There goes my hope of looking like a seasoned explorer.”

“Nah, don’t worries. No explorers can survive the Siren.” The girl gives him a surprisingly strong pat on the back, “Do you have a reservation?”

“Not really, this place was just recommended to me from the people I’m staying with…”

“That’s fine, I’m sure we can find you a table. What’s your name?”

Again with the chatting. This is possibly the most social interaction Connor has had in _years_. “Connor.”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Stella, I’ll take good care of you.” Despite the place being rather packed –it’s not a very big place, but it’s looking quite full and most of the patrons seem to be locals— she manages to find him a [table](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1JqSs9Jk-NmZOFB3hgjn3CsusxUvFJoMY/view) close to a wall. It has four chairs, but she promptly removes two, stacks them on one another and lifts them under one arm. “Here’s the menu. This section is the primi piatti, you can choose seafood specialty or earth dishes, then there’s secondi, stir-fries over here, and all the sides are on the next page. You a wine kind of guy?”

“I mean… as much as the next person…”

“Okay, hot tip: whites for seafood, reds for meat.” She delivers with a wink, “Just give me a holler when you’re ready to order.”

Luckily for Connor, the menu does have English translations of the contents underneath each dish, so he has a rough idea of what he’ll get –the allergy information card on the wall just by the cash register is in four languages so clearly these people have done their homework.

He ends up going the seafarer’s way, ordering Spaghetti ai Frutti di Mare and the prawn and calamari stir-fry, with a side of fried potatoes on lettuce and rocket. Upon Stella’s suggestion he pairs his meal with a Lamezia Greco, whatever that means… and it is indeed ‘absolutely fucking delicious’.

As he eats, he watches the place and the people in it… when you’re a tourist, it’s better to look for restaurants where there are a lot of locals, because it means whatever they serve is something that the people there actually like –from what he can hear, Connor is one of maybe three English speakers in the whole place. The atmosphere is lovely and the music they’re playing makes him think of tropical beaches… there’s also this one guy that comes in and out of the kitchen and stops at nearly every table to make small talk and smile at the people who call for him— it takes a second, but Connor’s brain catches up to him and he realizes: it must be the chef; and people want to compliment him on his wonderful cuisine.

Understandably, because holy shit, Connor feels spoiled.

But he’s also a soon to be detective, and he notices a pattern: a good 70% of the people who insist complimenting the chef to his face are female, all very eager to see him. Now, Connor is not normally a superficial guy, but it does make his attention shift, and… holy crap.

Why the hell is that guy a chef and not a model or something?

Tall and muscular, the t-shirt with rolled up sleeves showing off both his lovely tan skin and his arms, the chef has just a hint of stubble on his face and the most striking pair of heterochromatic eyes Connor has ever seen.

There’s _no way_ that guy is for real, right? He’s just a paid actor to go around tables to attract girls. _And_ guys, because honestly, even if Connor wasn’t gay he would probably become it for this dude. Holy shit.

Someone from the kitchen yells something and the possibly-not-real chef turns with a smile to shout back.

“Sì, un momento, ramme o’ canzo! Staje sempe ‘e na manera!” he wipes his hands on his apron and disappears where he came from, leaving Connor to wonder what the hell he just said –out of the whole phrase, he only understood ‘moment’. It’s something he noticed ever since getting off the train: people in Rome pretty much all spoke the same, but Neapolitan seems to be almost a completely different language to standard Italian. Kinda sounds like Spanish, if he has to be completely honest.

The disembodied voice from the kitchen yells something equally Neapolitan that has half the room laughing.

“That’s Markus, our chef.” Stella suddenly speaking by his side nearly makes Connor jump out of his skin. “One of our other two chefs was just calling him to get back to work instead of getting flirted at by half the restaurant.”

“I can imagine…”

“Yeah, he’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

“Oh God, did I actually say that out loud?” Shit. He’s gotten to use to having nearly no one being able to understand what he says and let his guard down.

Stella just chuckles at him. “It’s cool, dude, don’t worry. He’d actually be really flattered.” She assures, then snapping her fingers as if she just got an idea. “Hey do you wanna meet him? Why don’t you order dessert? He made snowflakes for today, they’re _insane_ good.”

“I— um—” Stella’s enthusiasm is way too contagious, and dessert does sound nice. “…sure?”

“Great! I’ll go get him right away!”

A few minutes tick by; and Connor is content to watch the place some more, while Stella and the other two waiters flit among tables, until a commotion makes his eyes snap to the girl.

Words and shouts are being exchanged that he can’t quite grasp, but he looked up just in time to see that a customer smacked Stella’s ass just as she walked by; she clearly has _things_ to say about people thinking they can just do that, and emptied a full brick of hot coffee down his pants.

The customer seems to be a real shithead, and if Connor had to guess he’d say they’re demanding to see a manager because they think Stella shouldn’t talk back… fuck that, honestly. He doesn’t speak Italian and he’s one second away from standing up and—

He doesn’t need to. The chef –Markus, he now knows– emerges from the kitchen again, leaving something on the counter by the cash register and crossing the distance to the angry customer in three quick strides.

Connor understands absolutely nothing of what is said, but within 20 seconds Markus is hauling the problematic customer up by the collar and marching him out of the place without even taking payment. The customer keeps shouting, and the chef yells something back at them about not being worth the money they’d spend.

Stella is clapping with a satisfied expression on her face.

Markus deflates with a huff, calming himself down and going back to retrieve the plate he left out –oh. It must be Connor’s dessert. Now he gets the name, ‘snowflakes’. It’s a bunch of little buns covered in powder sugar and smelling absolutely delicious.

“Sorry about that whole scene.” It’s the first words the chef speaks to him as he approaches the table, “Can’t have people thinking they can abuse our staff.”

His voice is low, smooth and kind of accented. Connor may or may not be in love at first sight.

“I— I understand completely.” He assures, clearing his voice somewhat awkwardly, “I would have done the same.”

The chef sets the plate down in front of him and then takes the chair across the table to sit. “That’s nice to know. My name is Markus.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard. I, uh, I’m Connor.” he is suddenly feeling self-conscious –all previous times until now, Markus has just stood by whichever table he was called at for a few moments, taken his bow gracefully and then sauntered off. Did Stella say something about him in particular? Has his waitress friend figured out he’s into guys just from their brief exchange?!

No, that’s a bit much to imagine. He quiets his thoughts down and reminds himself that there’s no need to get paranoid. He’s possibly the only American in the place right now, and a lot of the other patrons have come and gone already, so maybe it’s just a novelty to see a foreign tourist from far away.

“Stella tells me it’s your first time in Italy.” Definitely a novelty thing. Connor exhales in relief. “So where in America are you from?”

Damn it, what is it with these people figuring him out so easily? Connor can’t help his next words: “Ok, seriously, do I have ‘Made in USA’ written on my ass?!”

“I… just guessed from the fact that the tour dates on your band T-Shirt are all in the States… but if you stand up and turn around I can check?”

The question is delivered with a shy tone and a sheepish smile, but it still sounds like flirting to Connor.

“What?”

Markus seems to only now realize what he just said and clears his voice awkwardly. “Nothing, that was probably inappropriate…” he averts his eyes and tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, “Um, go on, have a bite! I’m especially proud of how these came out today!”

Not used to eating with an audience, Connor takes a first bite of his dessert somewhat hesitantly, but any restraint is abandoned when the filling all but explodes in his mouth –Stella was right, it’s _insane_ good.

“Oh my God—” he has to swallow both to avoid choking and to restrain a groan of bliss, “What even is in these things?”

Markus’ flattered little chuckle is all kinds of endearing. “Like it? The filling is whipped cream, ricotta and pears.”

“Ok, I know we just met but can we get married? I’m serious; I won’t be able to enjoy food anymore after having been here.” The thing that slightly scares Connor is that he’s only half joking.

“Oh, wow, let me at least take you out for a bit before we jump straight to marriage!”

That’s the second time Markus doesn’t shy away from flirting. Connor smirks. “Careful, Mr. Chef, I might take you up on that.”

Mismatched eyes focus on him and, God; they’re even more striking up close. “Really?” he asks, voice dropping a little, “We close in about half an hour. I can show you around a bit, be your personal guide.”

“Really? I would’ve thought such a popular place would stay open longer…”

“Nah… it’s the end of July, there’s not many people around except tourists and people who stay home for the summer holidays.”

Connor shudders to think what the city would look like outside of the holidays if this is not many people. It takes a second for him to realize that Markus has not taken back his proposal or said he was joking yet.

“You’d really take time out of your day just to show me around?”

The chef just shrugs in his seat, still smiling at him like he _wants_ Connor to fall for him. “Why not? You seem to be all by yourself, and it’s nice talking to you. Win-win.”

He searches the room with his eyes for Stella, who just looks back at him and gives him a thumbs up. Trying to think of what his father would do in his place, Connor can almost _hear_ Hank: _Jesus Christ, son, there’s a cute guy asking you out just like that, no strings attached and you’re sitting there imagining a lecture from your old man? Say yes, goddamn it!_

Imaginary Hank is right. He smiles. “I’d love to be shown around, sure.”

“ _Yes!_ I—I mean, great! Feel free to stay here while you wait, and enjoy your dessert!”

Was that a stutter? Did he really manage to fluster the unimaginably hot chef just by smiling and batting his eyelashes at him? That is… _adorable_.

It only takes a little while longer for everyone except Connor to leave, and Stella goes to half-close the top-down shutter to signal that the place is no longer accepting customers for the day. There’s something inherently cool about being allowed in a place after it’s supposed to be closed; people are going back and forth cleaning this or that, he gets a cup of espresso on the house long after he paid his bill, Stella mans the register to cash up for the day; and someone is [singing along](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXrmgzE8Tgg) to the radio from the kitchen.

“Salta sulle spalle tra la gente,  
sono un battito che sale e che ti prende,  
sei una musica che brucia sottopelle,  
sai che l’estate può durare anche per sempre…  
_Andale, Andale_!”

Wait. Is that— “Is that Markus?”

Stella starts laughing as she nods. “None of us ever told him we can hear him from all the way out here.”

Connor can see why— not only he has a lovely singing voice, it must also be quite funny if he happens to start singing with customers around.

“Questa notte è nostra…  
faremo come il vento, da zero a cento!”

Oh, he has no idea what the song is saying but it’s instantly his favorite song in the world. Nevermind the fact that he’s usually a metalhead and this is the girliest type of summer pop he ever heard.

When Markus finally emerges for the kitchen, having finished up everything he needed, Connor and Stella exchange a look and give him a round of applause.

It takes the chef a split-second to realize. “Oh I hate you both.”

“Lies! You drink up the attention like a thirsty man in the Sahara!” Stella is merciless in her teasing and it doesn’t escape Connor’s notice that, even as they interact with each other, both are using him the courtesy of speaking in English so he doesn’t feel left out. “Now shoo, go have your date.”

“Shut up, Stella!”

“I think you meant _thanks, Stella, you’re the best wing woman ever_.”

“God, fine, yes, whatever! I’m going!” Markus is visibly mortified. Connor possibly shouldn’t find it so amusing, but it’s too cute. His cheeks almost hurt from smiling too much when the chef turns to him. “Ready?”

“Sure.” He stands up and grabs his backpack with a strange fluttery feeling in his chest. Vacationing alone has certainly been an experience so far, but now that this beautiful stranger has joined him… it feels like an adventure. “Let’s go.”

Markus takes him on foot along the streets of the historic centre, pointing out this or that building as a landmark, but their first really important stop is Piazza del Plebiscito.

“Okay, now… I haven’t revised this shit since high school, but, to the best of my knowledge, the red building behind us is the Royal Palace…” Markus gestures to the construction, decorated with statues on the front, possibly of past monarchs or likewise important figures. “All those columns instead lead into the Basilica reale pontificia— basically the ‘royal church’.”

“Neapolitan kings had their own churches?” That’s impressive.

“Yeah, not overcompensating at all…”Markus comments, shaking his head, “The Clergy always had huge power in Italy, before it even was a united Country, so as a king it was always a smart move to suck up to them and build churches at every chance.”

True enough— very few places in the world have been as highly impacted by Christianity as Italy was. He looks around some more. “And these guys?”

Markus laughs. “They’re four different kings… the first one on the left is Carlo the Fifth, the last one on the right is Vittorio Emanuele II… the two in the middle I can’t remember.”

“Shame on you!” Connor teases.

“Hey! Do you know every President of the United States ever? Yeah, didn’t think so.” Connor actually does, but keeps silent, just to let Markus go on. “Either way, there’s a funny story that [these statues](https://i2.wp.com/www.napoli-turistica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/I-re-di-Napoli-Palazzo-reale.jpg?w=1024&ssl=1) tell… I don’t even know who the first person to make the jokes was, but if you look at the way they’re positioned, it looks like Carlo the Fifth is pointing at the floor and asking _‘Hey! Who pissed on the floor?’_ and the second guy is like _‘Not me!’_ ; then the third guy says _‘It was me, so what?’_ and finally Vittorio Emanuele unsheathes the sword and yells _‘So we gonna cut off your dick!’_ –it’s actually how we’d learn about the statues to remember the kings.”

“Wha—what?” Connor’s voice breaks with his laughter. “They’d really teach it like that in school?”

The other shrugs with a smile. “Well, they wouldn’t say ‘piss’ and ‘dick’, but yeah, pretty much.”

“Wow. I wish _my_ school days were that fun.”

“Eh, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Markus watches Connor laugh for a few more seconds –he’s going to have to buy Stella a present, she really set him up with the prettiest goddamn creature in the history of ever. “Come, I want to show you something else.”

They walk a bit further into the plaza, until the stones of the pavement are placed down in such a way that it looks like a starting line. Markus positions Connor just at the line, and moves to stand by his side.

“Legend has it that if you can cross the whole [plaza](http://www.napolitan.it/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Napoli.jpg) with your eyes closed; walking exactly between the statues of King Carlo and King Ferdinando, the spirit of Queen Margherita will grant you one wish.”

“Queen _Margherita_? Like the pizza?” He realizes how dumb his question is when Markus laughs.

“The one and only. According to some stories, she was such a picky eater that she’d refuse anything given to her, until this one chef created the pizza, and she was so delighted by it she’d eat nothing else.”

As fascinating as the story is, it gives Connor some thought: “This Queen Margherita sounds like a lot of trouble.”

“Well the pizza story isn’t really true, so there’s that.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, Queen Margherita reigned in the 1800s or something; pizza is way older than that.”

“And the wish-granting?”

“Oh, that’s very true.” Markus’ expression turns slightly sinister, “You see the tradition behind this challenge dates back to when Margherita was queen: she would concede grace to any convicts who would be able to cross the plaza in such a fashion, but nobody was ever able to, because the Queen herself had cast a curse on the place! Many people tried crossing the plaza with their eyes closed… not one ever succeeded. Some even walked off into the roads and got ran over by carriages and horses.”

Connor glances around and, true to Markus’ word, there’s several tourists walking around with their eyes closed, some getting filmed by giggling friends as they take embarrassingly wrong directions, even for someone who’s not looking. “Really, now?”

“Care to take on the challenge?”

That wolfish grin spells nothing but trouble. But it’s so tempting, exactly because of that. “And risk looking like a complete idiot?”

“Come on!” Markus insists. “It’s tradition. I promise I’ll be by your side and stop you if you walk into traffic.”

“I feel safer already.” Connor is skeptical, but takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

It’s actually quite daunting, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon and the sun is shining rather brightly around them –there’s some kind of formidable feeling in the air, it feels like the two great statues are looming over him already even though realistically Connor knows he’s probably nowhere near them yet. Now he knows how people steer so far off to the sides, it kinda feels like his feet are not listening to him.

“I don’t know, Markus, I don’t think this is working—”

“Hey! No peeking!” The other’s voice comes from slightly in front of him. Markus actually is protecting him from walking too far off.

Knowing that makes his heart feel warmer. This guy he only just met is already proving to be a better date than most guys he went out with in Detroit –Markus is telling him funny stories and interesting things, showing him around the city, playing games and _actually_ taking good care of him.

“You’re doing well! You should start thinking about that wish!”

The voice is still in front of him, not too far off. Connor keeps his eyes shut but follows the direction it comes from. If he really could have one wish granted right now, he’d probably ask for a kiss. It’s cheesy as all hell, but there’s something romantic about taking on an ancient challenge with your date walking ahead of you to protect you from the Queen’s curse.

He comes to a sudden stop, bumping into something warm.

Arms come up around him and he realizes— it’s Markus’ chest.

“You can open your eyes now.” He says, and Connor is almost blinded by the sight, both because of the sun glaring down on them and the way Markus is smiling at him, all bright eyes and full lips and— “You won.”

“…You guided me.” He probably shouldn’t argue and just take it, but his rational mind is hard to shut off.

His companion seems to have no such problem. “True. But that just means I get to claim half the wish for myself.”

“What—”

For the first time in his life, Connor starts thinking that the supernatural might actually exist: he’s pretty sure he hasn’t voiced his desire to kiss Markus at any point in time, and yet, just as he crossed the plaza successfully, the other leans forward and shyly covers his lips with his own.

He’s still blinking confusedly when they pull apart.

“Sorry, was that too cheesy?”

Rationally, he knows Markus probably just wanted to kiss him too and took a guess, but… what were the odds?

Naples is truly a strange, magical place.

He smiles and shakes his head. “No. No, that was… perfect.”

“I’m glad.” The expression he’s rewarded with would probably be worth a thousand postcards. “Come, we’re not far from the sea.”

By ‘not far’, Markus actually meant within literal walking distance: they get into a side road and get out onto the Lungomare, a long street winding along the coast, with the sea crashing along right on the other side of the guard-rail.

It’s unreal levels of beautiful, and more romantic than any date he can ever hope to have out in Detroit.

Shit, how do you beat walking along the street together hand in hand, less than six feet from the sea?

The question also makes Connor realize Markus took him by the hand and _hasn’t let go_.

Well.

He’s not complaining.

“See that castle over there? That’s Castel dell’Ovo… funnily enough it means ‘castle of the egg’...” Markus regales him with tale after tale as they walk along, pointing out the islands that can be seen in the distance and their names, Capri being the most famous of them all, but Connor does manage to actually get to know _him_ too.

He discovers that Markus is one year older than him, his parents are both gone but he’s finishing his apprenticeship at La Cantina; and he dreams of going abroad and open his own place someday. Connor tells him about Hank, mentions how he graduated from the police academy and will be starting his career in the force once he’s back –which of course earns him a flirty remark about men in uniform, but by now he’s used to his chef friend’s attitude and just laughs it off.

They share stories of childhood shenanigans and quirky facts about their respective hometowns.

“Hey, since you dream of going abroad, you could elope with me and bring actual good food to Detroit.”

Markus laughs and the way he licks his lips and looks off to the side just about drives Connor crazy. “Sounds lovely, but I’ve heard Michigan is cold as balls, we’d have to come back here every summer.”

“Really?”

“I’m serious, Connor, if I don’t see the sea at least once a year I can _die._ ”

Connor gasps theatrically and points a finger at the other. “I should’ve known! You’re secretly a _merman_. You were too good to be true!”

They both laugh heartily as they keep walking alongside the coast, still holding hands even as Connor takes some more pictures occasionally, to show Hank the beautiful seaside as well.

Markus’ spirit is downright contagious, Connor feels like he could tell him anything and can scarcely remember any time he felt as good as he does right now, strolling by the sea-side with this near stranger telling him stories about the magical city that changed names three times –Neapolis when it was Greek territory, then Partenope like the Roman siren, and finally Napoli, regaining part of the Greek name with the first king.

He only realizes they’ve been walking for about half an hour when Markus comes to a sudden stop and exclaims: “Hey! We’ve made it all the way down the Riviera!”

“What?”

“We’re at the beach, Connor! Do you wanna go swimming?”

Once again, Markus is excitedly tugging him along, while Connor is still trying to come to terms with _how_ there can be [a beach](https://img.lemde.fr/2017/04/20/0/0/4000/2662/688/0/60/0/ccbe472_15208-l5tqic.psmi74aemi.jpg) smack dab in the middle of the city –he literally can look to one side and see cars zipping past and then to the other side and see the white sand and people in swimsuits running around and playing in the water.

“Markus, wait, I don’t have swimming trunks—”

“It’s okay, there’s always someone selling them in the lido, and they have changing cabins!”

How convenient. Connor jokingly narrows his eyes at his companion. “Just say you’re only trying to get me naked.”

“Maaaaybe.” Markus answers with the guiltiest expression ever. “At least I’ll get naked too, so fair’s fair!”

Connor’s mouth suddenly feels a lot drier than it was before –he hadn’t thought about that. He can already feel the gay panic coming on: sure, they exchanged a quick kiss less than an hour ago, but they’ve still only just met… man, Markus is really knocking down any other possible date experience for him.

First excellent food, then exploring the city complete with stories and myths, and now going to play on a beautiful beach? Nothing will ever compare.

And yet, for that exact reason he just _can’t_ pass up this chance. “Lead the way.”

They can rent a reclining bed and umbrella at the Lido’s bar; Connor is content with letting Markus do the talking since his Italian leaves still very much to be desired, until his guide comes back to him with two pairs of non-descript blue swimming trunks and directions to the changing cabins.

“Wait, did you already pay for the both of us?”

Markus looks at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “Uh, yeah? I’m the one showing you around, it’s only natural.”

“Markus, you didn’t have to, you could’ve told me—”

“Shhhh, shhh, it’s fine.” Markus silences him by placing his fingertips over his lips and, well… it works, if only because Connor has to concentrate not to take said fingers between his teeth —now _that_ would be going too fast. “How about this: you let me do this for you, and you can pay for whatever we go do next?”

“…Ok, but no skydiving.”

“Damn, there goes my plan.”

Fuck, hearing Markus laugh is a literal siren’s call.

Connor was expecting to have some good traditional food, then maybe walk around some more and get hopelessly lost among medieval churches and museums… this is _so_ much better. They go get changed and in less than ten minutes they’re already hip deep in the water, splashing each other and playing chase like children.

“So, how are you liking Naples so far?” they kind of have to shout at each other because of the chatter around them, the music from the bar and the noise of the sea, but Connor has to admit:

“Honestly? I’m having the time of my life!” he says, with a smile so full and carefree like he hasn’t felt in a while, what with studying as hard as he had to, in order to graduate top of his class, “Thank you so much for taking me here, Markus.”

Markus bites at his lower lip as if he had anything to be bashful about. “Well, thank you for letting me, Connor!”

If it was possible to die from too much beauty, Connor would probably be six feet under –not only Markus is a goddamn Adonis in swimming trunks, all freckles and tan skin over toned muscle and _legs for days_ , but this little beach tucked in the middle of the gulf makes their whole situation surreal. It feels like a fairytale.

“So, do you come here often?”

“Aren’t we already past pick-up line level?” Markus gets splashed in the face for that.

“Come on! You know what I meant!”

He gets splashed some more anyway before he can answer: “Any time I can, really. Usually with Stella and a couple other friends. Obviously not in winter, because it’d be fucking freezing.”

“Try diving in an ice-cold lake in Michigan, _then_ you can come tell me about freezing.”

It’s Connor’s turn to get splashed. “Ok tough guy, how about we race, then? First one to swim from here to the palace’s edge wins.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

Now, Connor considers himself a pretty fit guy. He had to keep up with the academy’s rigorous training program; and took the anti-riot training for extra credit. He doesn’t look as exotic as a Neapolitan with mismatched eyes, but he makes for an impressive physique in his own right.

He’s still no match in a swimming race against someone who probably spends two thirds of the year by the sea, Markus wins with a lead of a good six feet.

“If I had any doubt, now I’m sure!” it’s the first thing out of his mouth as they sit together by the rocks to catch their breath, “Secret merman, confirmed!”

He expected a witty retort of some kind, but Markus doesn’t appear to be listening. Connor shake his head to get most of the water out of his head and then turns to his companion, only to find him staring.

“…what?”

“You have pretty hair.” The compliment catches him mildly off-guard, but not as much as the hand coming up to gently card through his drenched curls. He gasps slightly when he sees Markus [lean in](https://amikoroyaiart.tumblr.com/post/182641983287/inspired-by-headraline-amazing-fic-zero-to-a), but before he can think of any reason not to they’re already kissing.

Markus’ lips taste of seawater, oranges and summer. Connor doesn’t hesitate to open his mouth for him –how many times in a lifetime will he get to make out by the sea under the shadow of a Renaissance palace? _Exactly_. He tugs Markus closer to deepen their contact, crossing his fingers behind the nape of the other’s head and surging forward slightly while Markus grabs him at the waist instead.

There goes the most memorable event in his vacation so far.

Markus pulls away from his lips, only to start peppering kisses down his jawline, moving lower and lower until he reaches Connor’s clavicle and bites down.

Connor feels a groan escape his lips as Markus starts licking and sucking on the spot and he already knows: that’ll leave a mark. And with how pale he is, it’ll probably stay there well into next week, possibly even after the plane back. “Markus…”

He all but whispers the call to the sky, but Markus does stop to lean his forehead against Connor’s chest. “Sorry, I’ve been a bit selfish— I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

It’s altogether too much. “I… I don’t think I could forget you if I tried, Markus.”

“You’re just saying that… I bet in one month you won’t even remember my name.” Markus can scarcely believe someone from the US can really be so amazed at little old Naples, or little old _him_ , for that matter. But, as he showed Connor some of his favorite spots in the city, he guesses that’s true for anyone in any place— you spend your whole life somewhere and you grow up not thinking it’s at all that impressive until someone from the outside comes along and marvels at the little things.

Connor just had an air about him –he knew immediately when he asked Stella who she was speaking English with, he just _had_ to talk to the lonely tourist with the big brown doe eyes who fancied himself an explorer.

Turns out he really _was_ an explorer, traveling alone to the other side of the world and not afraid to let a stranger lead the way to adventure. And now here they are, kissing by the sea as if summer would last forever.

Fuck, this is why he usually _doesn’t_ do flings. This is going to hurt so bad when Connor goes back to Michigan.

“Hey now, give me some credit… Markus is a pretty unique name!”

Connor’s smile is so goddamn pretty it’s painful, but it looks like he’s having so much fun… and hey, maybe their time together is limited, but for now they’re still here.

He gets to hold him a little while longer.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He kisses Connor again, just a chaste peck on the lips, before getting up, “Come on! Do you hear the music? Let’s go back and check it out!”

 

Connor lets himself be lead back to shore by the hand, and they’re still dripping wet when they step onto the beach to find out that the bar owners have cranked up the volume and quite a few people are dancing to the rhythm of upbeat summer songs.

He’s hesitant about joining in until a familiar melody comes up— the song Markus was singing back at the restaurant. “Hey, I seem to recall [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXrmgzE8Tgg)!”

For once, he’s the one to drag Markus by the hand, until they’re in the middle of a circle of people and singing at the top of their lungs –normally, Connor would feel horribly self-conscious, especially considering he’s stumbling on every other word because he _still_ doesn’t speak much Italian, but literally _everyone_ is singing along, with no shame and no judgement. It would seem there’s no place for those two things out here on the beach.

They’re with a whole bunch of people who mostly do not know each other, and still they’re all jamming together like old friends, swaying along or clapping their hands and not caring if they look silly. He doesn’t forget to whip his phone out of his backpack and take quite a few pictures of Markus and a short video of him singing along to the song’s chorus –both to show Hank and to keep for himself.

It’s the most fun he’s had in a long, long while.

They’re not even completely dry when they get dressed and out of the Lido, but Connor hasn’t forgotten about their deal and insists of paying for whatever they will do next.

Markus, being who he is, promptly decides to go for ice cream in a place on the way back towards the underground station. Connor gets to try lemon flavored granita, which Markus assures is an absolute must when coming to Naples; and then, since the sun is setting, his companion offers him to escort him at least to his station.

He tries to get Markus to teach him the full song on the train ride, and also gets a rough translation of Markus’ favorite parts.

 _Take me deep down,_  
_where there’s no foothold,_  
_where life is crazy, roll like a wheel,_  
_This night belongs to us…_  
_We’ll make like the wind, zero to a hundred!_

Connor smiles to himself when he hears the translation to the chorus –it doesn’t really rhyme anymore when you translate it, but it still sounds very, very familiar.

Then he asks for the part Markus was singing back in the restaurant and it hits even closer:

 _Jump up on my shoulders in the crowd,_  
_I’m a heartbeat that rises up and grips you,_  
_You’re a music that’s burning under my skin,_  
_You know the summer can even last forever_

Oh, how he wishes the last verse could be true. He doesn’t want to let go just yet.

“Hey, I was wondering…” this might be a bit of a leap, but he tries nonetheless, “The person who recommended your restaurant to me was actually from the B&b I’m staying at… you wouldn’t happen to know a Luther, would you?”

Luck seems to be on his side: “No way!!! You’re staying at Kara and Luther’s?” Markus exclaims, eyes going wide in surprise, “Man, I haven’t seen those two in forever!”

Connor bites his lip. _There’s_ his chance. “Why don’t you come along, then? You can say hi…”

Markus’ smile freezes on his face for a moment –the detective can _see_ him take the proposal at face value first, and _then_ connect the dots. For a guy so apparently forward he surely gets flustered easily. It’s endearing, really.

 

“Welcome back, Connor! Did you have a nice time?”

Kara’s words are met with Markus’ voice before Connor can even confirm: “He had the _best_ time! He was with me!”

“Hey, you!”

Connor misses the rest of their greeting because they speak Italian to each other, but he can make out ‘long time’ and a few other generic pleasantries. They also pass by Alice in the living room and the child wastes no time in running at Markus to jump-hug him.

As his companion readily picks Alice up to spin her around a couple times, Connor privately thinks he doesn’t blame her one bit. If he’s lucky, Markus will pick _him_ up as well, tonight.

“You know…” he whispers to Markus once he’s done exchanging pleasantries with Luther as well, “The room they gave me has a balcony facing a beautiful orange grove. Do you want to see?”

Markus knows all too well Connor isn’t offering him just to go see a stupid garden. He still smiles, taking a page out of Connor’s book: “Lead the way.”

The door is barely closed behind their backs before Connor slams Markus against it and kisses him hard.

“Connor—”

He’s already tugging at the other’s shirt to slip his hands underneath it “I just want you to understand…” he breathes against the skin of Markus’ neck, “I don’t normally do this on the first date, but I— I don’t know, I just feel as if…”

The sentence gets left hanging when Markus leans forward to steal a quick peck, before finally complying and taking off his shirt. “I know. Me too.” He says, choosing his next words better than a mind-reader would: “I feel as if I don’t take this chance I’ll lose it forever.”

Connor’s own shirt ends up on the floor next, and before he knows it Markus is marching him to the bed. He probably should have more reservations about this; they’ve only just met. Markus could be a murderer, a con artist; he could have all kinds of bad intentions—

Markus is now naked on his bed, so unless he’s got a machete up his ass there’s really only _one_ thing he can do right now, and it’s _not_ murder.

The thought makes Connor laugh as Markus leans down to take off his jeans, kissing a line down his chest on his way. “I hope you’re ready to blow my mind, or all the stories about Italy and Latin lovers will be _lies_.”

In response, Markus grabs him by the wrist and pushes him down onto the bed, keeping his hands above his head. “Is that a challenge?”

“You heard me, _hotshot_.”

Connor should have known better than to issue such a challenge. He ends up screaming Markus’ name with his legs wrapped around the other’s waist and his nails sinking into the skin of Markus’ shoulders.

Zero to a hundred, indeed. He regrets _nothing_.

He especially doesn’t regret discovering that Markus is a cuddler –rather than loving him and leaving him, the chef lies by his side and draws little circles on his abdomen with his hand.

“Do you ever think… sometimes… that you get plonked into someone else’s life for a reason?”

“Hm?” Connor can’t quite say he knows what the other’s getting at, but he’d listen to Markus talk all night, if he was so inclined.

“I mean… out of all the hotels in the city, you choose to stay here… out of all the restaurants to eat you choose the one where I am…” it would seem that Markus is a contemplative post-orgasm kind of guy. Unusual, but still preferable to the falling-asleep-right-after kind of guy.

He smiles. “What where the chances, am I right?”

Markus returns the smile and nuzzles his neck. “I’m just trying to think… I’ve been wanting to leave for so long… I just never had a reason. And then I meet you.”

“Come on, Markus, you’re not seriously talking about _uprooting your life_ and running away with me…” Connor is sure the other is joking, even though the silence following makes him almost think he isn’t. “…are you?”

There’s a sigh, and the other’s strong arms envelope him further. “I don’t know.” Markus says, “I don’t know what I’m talking about. I just know I don’t want this to end, and that I’ll miss you when you go back.”

Fuck, that both makes him warm and fuzzy in all the right places and simultaneously breaks his heart. There’s really only one thing Connor can say: “I’ll miss you too.”

He turns on his side as well, to be able to lean forward and kiss Markus once more, deep and slow like they have much more time instead of just a week.

“Tell you what.” Markus whispers against his lips, “Let’s not think about that just now, and make the most of whatever time we have right now.”

“Agreed.”

They keep kissing in bed for a while and end up falling asleep together, until an alarm goes off from Markus’ phone and he hisses out a curse in Italian. “Sorry to wake you… I have to go.” he says, regretfully, “I have to go home and shower, and then go to the restaurant and start cooking for the day.”

Connor glances at the clock. It’s 5:30 am.

Damn, being a chef is hard work.

They exchange phone numbers to meet up again in the afternoon at the restaurant’s closing time, and once Markus is gone Connor lets his head fall on the pillows with a sigh.

That just happened.

He met a real life _hot Italian guy_ that took him on a wild adventure around the city and then dicked him down like it was his day job.

And people think Roman Holidays was a good movie. Gregory Peck ain’t got _shit_ on Markus.

 

The rest of his week passes between great food, beautiful monuments, sunny beaches and make out sessions in increasingly weirder places –the proverbial cake in that department is taken by the time Markus takes him to see the Napoli Sotterranea, the oldest part of the city, [all underground](https://thesooper.it/napoli/wp-content/uploads/sites/5/2017/06/DSC_9481-1024x767.jpg), on top of which the newer city was built.

By the time Connor has to go to the airport to take his plane to Heathrow, it feels like he and Markus have been together forever, and there are legit tears in his eyes as they say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll remember me.”

Markus’ voice is also breaking slightly with unshed tears, so at least Connor is not the only dumbass who’s legit about to cry for a guy he’s only dated one week. “I’m pretty sure I’d recognize you blindfolded.”

His companion embraces him tightly. “And don’t be a stranger, you hear me? You have me on your phone, WhatsApp and everything, so… no excuses!”

“I’ll try my best, Markus.”

“Good.”

Markus doesn’t want to let go. He already had very little reasons to stay in Naples, then he went and fell in love at first sight like an idiot… his apprenticeship ends in three months from now, but after that…

He’s got absolutely nothing to stay for; exception made for his close friends, all of which always encouraged him to go and follow his dreams.

Well.

Three months is plenty of time to think about things seriously and make up his mind.

Just in case, he kisses Connor goodbye as if it’s the last time they’ll ever kiss –as far as they know, for now, it is.

Neither addresses the tears falling from the other’s eyes, and they part smiling through them.

 

Back in Detroit, no one believes Connor’s crazy stories about Markus –and he doesn’t even tell the _craziest_ , juiciest details— at least, not until he shows picture-proof.

 _Then_ people believe him. Some are quite jealous of both his adventure and his encounter, while Hank is proud and happy that his son got to have the time of his life.

Still, he’s a police Lieutenant, and even if he wasn’t he didn’t need to be to know that his boy came back changed from his trip. He came back in love.

Whether with the place or the person, Hank doesn’t quite know –judging by how much time Connor spends on his phone any time he can afford to, though, he can hazard an educated guess.

Connor and ‘Markus’, apparently, talk about anything and everything –his boy’s job as a detective and how it’s going so far, Markus’ chef apprenticeship and his search for a new position once that ends… hopes, dreams, everyday things. Connor sends cute pictures of Sumo; Markus sends selfies with Stella and pictures of delicious looking Italian dishes and sweets.

One fateful evening, Hank nearly grabs his gun when he hears his son screaming from his room.

“Connor!!! Jesus Christ, kiddo— what’s happening?!” he had half a mind to yell at Connor for making a fuss about nothing when he finds him perfectly fine in his room, then he notices his boy is crying.

Well, he’s crying and laughing at the same time.

“Dad— sorry, I— dad, oh my _God_ …” Connor runs both his hands through his hair and then just laughs again and flings himself at Hank to hug him, jumping up and down slightly.

His father pats him on the back, slightly awkwardly, not really getting it until he looks just over Connor’s shoulder and catches sight of his phone on the nightstand nearby, still alight and on an open conversation.

There’s the screenshot of a plane ticket with a caption under it.

 _«_ _We’ll make like the wind, zero to a hundred._ _»_


End file.
